


i want you in my rear window, baby (because i want you gone, not in my ass)

by Swiggity_swydra_fuck_hydra (Haych_Aych_Ach)



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Ableism, Abusive Relationships, Again, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Canon-Typical Violence, Dom Matt Murdock, F/M, Good Intentions Bad Reactions, M/M, Matt Murdock's Anger Issues, Multi, Rape Culture, Sexual Assault, Sub foggy, eventually, healthy BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-07-29 11:58:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7683706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haych_Aych_Ach/pseuds/Swiggity_swydra_fuck_hydra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt has a bad sexual encounter, and then a lot more of them, and then there's Foggy, smiling and asking him about his kinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Strong trigger warning for sexual assault in the context of BDSM, and for abusive relationships. Matt does *not* have any healthy understanding of kink or his own sexual desires.
> 
> Disclaimer: the actions characters take in this story, the things they are into, and how they behave is not a reflection on the author or commenter/reader's own beliefs, interests, morals, personality, etc. Fiction is fiction. What some characters like to do and what they think is right is not necessarily correlating with reality or truth, etc.

Matt loves sex.

Well, okay, that's a little profane--what he really means is that he's never had sex that didn't feel good, didn't make his eyes roll back in his head and moan. It's mostly a function of his senses: when he lets himself _feel_ , he can feel every thread of silk against his cock, every whorl of a fingertip tracing down his chest. He can taste their whole week's inventory of food, make them breakfast in the morning and it's  _always_ something they like to eat. 

His first time is drunk, but the girl doesn't care that he comes in two minutes because he's eating her out and she barely notices, and then the other ones after her don't care because he knows that sex doesn't stop when  _he's_ done. He pays attention, he does what  _the_ _y_ want, he listens to their bodies and their words and is always, always careful to back off, give them room to escape, never trap or pin them down until they tell him to. Matt knows he's stronger than them and taller than most of them and he knows that a lot of them like him because he doesn't make anyone feel afraid. He's careful.

(He's proud of it until Foggy points out that it's because he's blind, he's a handsome wounded duck and they like him. Because he's blind. Not because--

Because he's blind. 

He doesn't stop but his heart sinks whenever they tell him they feel safe.) 

 _(Handsome wounded duck_. Not charming and not sweet. Just wounded and fucking  _pretty_.)

* * *

 

Elektra is a little different, in that it's not that she doesn't mind that he comes quickly. She doesn't not-mind, she fucking  _loves_ it. She tortures him, her nails down his cock,  _her_ cock in his ass, vibrating and inflating. She makes him wear a plug and a  _spank me_ sign to class and lick his own used condom out at the end of the day in front of her; she leads him around by a nipple leash and tells him to lean back and she  _yanks_ it off. She bites him and sees how many times he can come before he can't even get hard anymore, and then she rides his face. She fits a ring onto him and sits on his dick and plays with her phone until he's sobbing and begging wordlessly.

Elektra doesn't like him  _because he's blind_. She  _loves_ him and Matt  _loves_ her, and he does anything she wants and everything she suggests: chasing her in the park, blowing the guy she brings with her, coming just from the smell of her when she's all over his face, running down his chin with his drool. Elektra makes him and unmakes him and leads him and leaves him stumbling, and he adores her. He gets down on his knees for her  _because_ he adores her--

But also because of that other reason. 

* * *

 

It's after a night out with Foggy that Matt finds the number in his phone, and it takes some jogging of his memory for it to come back, but as it turns out, it's the philosophy major who engaged Matt in a slurry debate last night, asserting that since color wasn't real and how did we know anybody  _saw_ the same thing that anybody else saw, and that meant that Matt wasn't  _really_ blind. 

Matt hates those people, usually. It's the same assholes who make people feel bad for using a white cane when they're not in the 10% like him, and that's disgusting. But this guy is hot, deliciously muscled and people  _respond_ to him like he's hot and confident, and Matt decides that yes, he  _does_ want to fuck him.

It's not hard to get the guy's place and the agreement of condoms (Matt confesses every week to premarital sex, use of birth control, and impure thoughts, each and every one), and through Foggy's usual jokes about how bad an idea this is and what do you see in these people anyway, Matt heads over there the very next night, and embarks on a new journey. Surely guys are different, surely they don't want Matt just because he's weak? Matt's never heard of a man going for a dark, wounded figure.

It's when the guy's taking his pants off (and Matt  _to this day_ doesn't remember his name) that it gets a little odd. "Get down on your knees," the guy tells him, and Matt raises an eyebrow because sure, that's a good position, but that's--

Whatever. He finishes stripping as the guy barks more stuff at him and gets on his knees and goes over.

The awkward fumbling lasts maybe a few seconds before Matt gets his lips around the dick and starts to lick and suck a little, playing with it, and the guy groans and sits back, one hand coming to pet Matt's hair, and that makes him smile. He likes that, loves it when a girl's fingers are touching his hair, and apparently when  _anyone's_ fingers are touching his hair while he's getting on with it.

He's getting into it, almost properly sucking--really, it tastes like a dental dam does, and there's something deeply satisfying about the groans of the guy above him--and then it happens: the fingers tighten a little, and Matt doesn't care because it's just pain, and then the guy is  _pushing on his fucking head_ and the dick is going _into_ his mouth, too far, Matt doesn't want--doesn't know--his hands go slack-- 

Saying something about Matt being a  _good boy_ and then Matt feels cold and confused and then, and fucking  _then_ , then the guy says that Matt  _looks like he was made for it_ and  _suck a little harder, sunshine_ and that is fucking  _it_ , Matt stands up and grabs his clothes to leave.  _Fuck_ this guy.

"Hey, are you okay?" the guy says. "You look a little pale."

Matt pulls back his teeth and yanks on his shirt. "Go fuck yourself."

"Hey, I'm just saying, you seemed pretty into it, I don't know why you're acting like a priss. You've fucked, like, everybody on campus. Don't act like you're  _new_ to any of this, or anything."

"You--" and then Matt goes speechless with rage, because he puts it together and feels fucking  _duped_ , the knees and the kneeling and the tugging on his hair and the  _pushing his head down_ and the good-boy and the made-for-it and the nickname, it's all together, everything is together, this guy thinks Matt's-- he thinks-- and he has the  _audacity_ to fucking ask if he's okay, to call him that--

And Matt doesn't think, he lunges and he  _hits_ , he hits hard and there's a satisfying crunch of ribs and he doesn't stop, twisting the arm and the fingers and getting the face good and bloody, and then he grabs the asshole's dick.

"Fuck you," Matt hisses. " _Fuck_ you. I ever hear that you're around again and I will fucking bite your dick off and I will put it in  _your_ mouth that  _looks like it's made for it_ _._ "

And Matt turns and leaves, shaking. He doesn't go home. He goes to the gym and he hits and hits and hits, and he thinks, and he realizes that that  _really is_ what everyone thinks he is when they see him. Fucking  _weak_.

* * *

 

So, Elektra.

It's not that Matt doesn't love her. It's that he knows that once someone wants you like that--will push your head down--will call you a  _good boy_ \--that it's all interconnected, so once he's decided that he'll get spanked for love then, well, everything else is already in the contract. Elektra doesn't care, anyway, doesn't dress it up like she's doing anything but taking what she wants and having fun with Matt while it's happening, just like when they're stealing a car. If he told her no or I don't like it, she'd laugh and keep going, so he doesn't, and he feels like he's flying when he's with her.

(Sick, terrified, anchorless.)

She makes him get on his knees and Matt  _likes_ it, feels fuzzy and happy and not at all like he wants to hit her. She yanks on his hair but it's not the same, really--all he wants to do is run--and she calls him a good boy and it's. It's fine. Everything is fine. It all goes together and it's not that bad and it's _fine._  Until it's not.

* * *

 

And it's kind, in a way, Matt realizes long after she's left because it turns out she likes him weaker than her except when it comes to  _actual murder_. It means nothing about him, not one single thing. It all went together, that's why she did it, it didn't matter that he got on his knees. She made him, and that was about her. She didn't mean anything. It didn't work out. Things don't, sometimes. 

* * *

 

"So," Foggy says, gasping, on Matt's couch, through kisses, "If we're going to be having sex--which I really, really want to, and unless I am hallucinating I think you do too--"

"Mmm," Matt says, pressing more kisses, a hint of teeth. Foggy is delicious.

"Which is a great idea because I'm hot and you're hot and we're gonna be so hot together--"

" _Mmm_ ," Matt says, trying to keep it to kissing. He hates Serious Talks with Foggy, they end with Foggy making things out to be worse than they are and/or him upsetting Foggy and feeling like an asshole.

"We should talk about how we like to have sex so we don't end up meeting here awkwardly with you thinking it's whipped cream and me thinking it's jello night."

"What?" Matt says.

"Long story. Anyway. Kinks, no-can-dos, maybes, that kind of stuff."

Matt sits up and back. He doesn't-- Fuck.

"Do you want me to go first? I can totally go first," and Foggy sounds still cheerful, like that's just a  _thing_ he can rattle off, a list he has somewhere in his head. Like he thinks about it without stopping and starting and needing to  _hit_ something. "Okay, I am absolutely not into anything that involves people saying 'no' and me supposed to keep going, and also toes. I also don't like dirty talk about pregnancy or breeding or getting anyone knocked up, but I don't think that's as likely to happen anyway. And I don't like being hancuffed or tying up someone else, at all. Or any kind of humiliation, that is 100% not my thing.

"I like basically most sex things apart from that, but goddamn is giving head really fun. Not getting face-fucked, but that can be totally fun if you don't do it right before an oral exam--yeah, that was a bad life choice--but, like, slow and steady and sloppy, with all kinds of dirty talk and cum on my face, yum. Also, I really want to just, like. Lick your abs. Because they're amazing."

Matt...doesn't know how to respond to that. 

"Now your turn," Foggy says, gently nudging him. 

Matt says nothing.

"It's okay to say no to anything," Foggy says after a minute. "Literally anything, including sex at all. Any time. Or kissing, or certain types of touching, or holding hands, or whatever."

Matt says nothing.

"Hey," and Foggy's pulling back, sounding really concerned now. "Did I go too fast? I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable. I know that not everyone is fine just tossing out all their kinks in the air--"

Matt doesn't know where the next words come from, didn't plan them, wasn't thinking about them: " _Fuck you_ ," and he's standing up and walking away, "Fuck you, fuck you,  _fuck you_ , fuck you, I didn't  _like_ it, fuck you for assuming I fucking  _liked it_ \--"

And he's out of the door and in the street, and. Matt spends the night in the office. And then the next day...out. He's not entirely sure where he is, except it's  _not_ where Foggy is, and he goes back only to get his suit and go straight back out of his own apartment, unable to think about it. 

* * *

 

"Hey," Foggy says, when Matt's sitting again. This time it's on Foggy's couch--Foggy had asked, gently, if that was okay, and Matt had said yes. Because he felt terrible, and humiliated, and baffled by his own response.

"So...that happened," Foggy said, handing Matt his open beer. "That...definitely happened."

"That happened," Matt mutters, playing with the label. It's shit beer, anyway.

"And I'm not really sure how we got from making out to, uh, you screaming and disappearing for a few days--"

"I didn't disappear for  _days_ ," Matt says.

"You didn't talk to me outside of literally anything work-related for three days  _after_ you showed up again," Foggy says quietly, hysteria on the edge of his voice. "I said 'hi' and you  _ignored it_. Matt, are you okay? Seriously, what did I  _do_?"

"You didn't do anything," Matt says, sure of this. "You didn't--it wasn't you."

"I said things about sex and then you ran out of your apartment and fucking  _disappeared_ and then wouldn't talk to me unless you had to," and Foggy sounds on the verge of tears. "I just want to know what I did so I can  _literally never do that again_ , jesus fuck."

"It's not you," Matt says again, because if he's making Foggy cry then he  _has_ to deal with this. He hasn't and he doesn't want to, has never wanted to, but if he has to then he has to. "I--I overreacted. I don't, I don't have kinks, and I overreacted."

"You think?" Foggy mutters, but sounds better. "Jesus, Matt, I wasn't--no, you know what? Let me make this as clear as humanly possible--I thought it was obvious earlier, but apparently not: the only kind of sex I like having--the  _only kind of sex_ I will ever, ever have or want to have--the kind where everyone is one hundred and ten  _fucking_ percent on-board with  _everything_. I don't want anyone to be anything less than as enthusiastic about every single detail and if someone isn't then I want to know  _immediately_ so I can either fix it or  _stop_. And you don't have to like _anything_ and that's fine, but I want to know because if you're not loving it then I don't want it. Period. Always."

Matt sucked in a breath and controlled himself. His eyes felt strange.

"Like, you know that joke where it's like, 'during sex, I worry that my opponent hates me'?" Foggy says. 

"No," Matt says. But it's funny. Your opponent always kind of hates you.

"I hate that joke because it's fucking gross, and I don't want to have sex with an  _opponent_ ," Foggy says, and sounds angry, but not quite at Matt. "I am not fighting you and if that's how sex is to you then  _we are not having it_."

Matt sips his beer. "Okay."

There's a sigh, and a huff, and then Matt realizes that Foggy's mad at  _himself_ , which is. Dumb. "It's..a long story," Matt says, and he's not sure he wants to tell it, ever. He'd prefer he didn't have to. "I just. If you push my head down when I'm blowing you then I'll punch you."

It doesn't come out like he usually means that kind of thing. It sounds small. 

"If I shove your head down when you're blowing me and you haven't begged me to do that for at least three straight weeks then  _please_ punch me, right in the dick if possible," Foggy says. "Jesus, who  _does_ that?"

And it make Matt's mouth relax, let more words come out. "And I don't want--that. Any of that."

"Blowjobs?"

Matt's mouth twists. Thinking about the taste of dental dams. Elektra never used one. "The--being tied up. Or anything like it. It all goes together."

"It...kind of doesn't have to," Foggy says after a minute, "But that's fine. Noted as to 'no' to...well, can you tell me it in more detail? Which things are off the table?"

Matt swallows more beer. "Off the table?"

"If  _either_ of us wants stuff off the table, it's off," Foggy says firmly. "And if we have to wait to get the landmines removed, I'll wait. Nobody has ever actually died of blue balls."

Matt laughs, and leans in and kisses him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AKA the porny, feelings-heavy Foggy-POV sequel.

The thing is, Foggy doesn't even  _know_ which dude to vitriolically hate and write about in his diary. (Yes, he keeps a diary and no it is never, ever posted online.)

He knows to hate Elektra--that's easy. He's hated Elektra since the first time he saw how she was around Matt and his skin crawled; he's hated Elektra even before she sent Matt back to the dorm room bruised and high off his ass and falling behind on his grades, well before she proceeded to break Matt's heart and make him incredibly depressed. If it weren't through Matt's undefeatable stubbornness, he never would have pulled back up and graduated summa cum laude, and it makes Foggy fume to think about.

He knows he's biased, he knows he can veer too far into mother-henning, but it's hard to turn off that streak that makes him want to scream at people for hurting Matt. Everything from stupid 'diversity hire' comments to random men groping him to now, apparently, the dude in conjuction with Elektra who caused Matt's whole 'violently scream at Foggy for suggesting he had sexual preferences and then disappear for a day' incident, which is  _clearly_ , in retrospect, a traumatic reaction and not Matt being an inexplicable dickhead.

(Matt can be a total dick, but it is never, ever inexplicable.)

And it does grate on Foggy a little that he doesn't have a name to curse in his head or in his long screeds about how this guy needs to step on legos or get habanero juice in his eyes or get fired from whatever job he has that he  _clearly_ doesn't deserve because Unnamed Asshole is a  _complete asshole_ , but he doesn't press on it. He does know better than that.

(Matt is not Foggy's first rodeo when it comes to people who a) have had bad shit happen to them and b) do  _not_ want to talk about it.)

Matt is sweet, though; a part of Foggy was worried that Matt would hate him forever for this whole thing, but right after their first awkward conversation about how Foggy really does believe in only having sex that is both enthusiastic  _and_ consensual he's back to being the kind of cuddly that Foggy's only seen before after finals week and when severely hammered. It's nice, and when they stay over and end up sleeping in the same bed without doing more than kiss (which would imply that it's not a lot of kissing, which is  _false_ ), Foggy wakes up in the morning to Matt making him breakfast and coffee.

It shows over the next couple of months, the way that Matt has clearly decided to treat Foggy better: he laughs more, jokes back, shows up to work early and leaves late, and Foggy finds little things from him almost every couple of days: a chocolate bar when he's stressed, the last slice of the rhubarb pie saved just for him, Starbucks so they don't have to drink Karen's coffee. Matt offers Foggy little backrubs after work if he's tense and, one night when Foggy is narrating some bizarre dialogue-heavy movie, Matt reaches up and strokes through his hair and it's  _bliss_.

(This is what it feels like, Foggy realizes, to be valued. To be the center of Matt's attention again, when they were best buddies and not hiding little stabs of jealousy all the time. Only it's _much better_ because now both of them have better hair and when Foggy wants to kiss Matt nowadays he  _can_ \--Matt never seems alarmed by that, and faintly bemused when Foggy asks permission first.)

And one night, when they're both loose-limbed and relaxed, Matt mouthing at Foggy's neck, he says gently, "Foggy?"

"Yeah?"

"This might sound a little sudden," and he kisses lower, "But I'd like to suck you off, and would you like that?"

"Oh, fuck, yeah," Foggy says, eyes rolling back as Matt nips him, "You don't have to but  _fuck yeah_ , oh god," because Matt is  _really fucking good at this_ , making him come undone and be able to think about nothing but how good he feels, how Matt's taking out his dick and touching it just right, kneeling down and  _licking_ and sucking and oh god, oh  _fuck_. Foggy grabs the couch so he doesn't grab Matt's hair and moans, trying to not thrust his hips up, and he's done in just a few minutes.

"Fuck, Matt," he gasps as Matt pulls back, looks up, and deliberately swallows. " _Fuck_."

"Good, then?" Matt asks, smiling slyly.

"Ten out of ten, jesus, Matt," Foggy says, leaning back and closing his eyes for a second. "You like it too?"

Matt laughs under his breath, and then leans in and up to kiss Foggy. "You're adorable."

Foggy kisses him back until he's breathless, and then pulls back and asks, "Did you--do you want me to suck you off too?"

There's an awkward pause, and then Matt shrugs and sits back.

"'No' is also a fine answer," Foggy says.

"No, then," Matt says, and Foggy kisses him, happy that he asked when he wasn't sure.

* * *

 

A lot of the sex they start to have goes like that--handjobs, blowjobs, Matt rubbing his knee against Foggy with a grin on his face that makes his legs feel like jelly, all of them are with Matt initiating and staying in control the entire time, usually without wanting Foggy to reciprocate at all.

It's not terribly surprising. Matt is one of the biggest control freaks Foggy's ever known, and he's long since accepted that as just a  _thing_ Matt does, and some of it is entirely warranted. Matt  _does_ need things to be put in a specific layout and stay that way. Matt  _does_ need his groceries labeled and put away precisely, and his suits carefully hung up to his exacting standards. Foggy doesn't really mind, because Matt a) looks guilty whenever he asks for anything that takes even slight effort, b) generally stops crossing lines once it truly pisses off Foggy and c) most of the time, it's actually easy to go along with it and end up with an organized dorm room or whatnot. 

But it's not just logical once Foggy thinks it over, how Matt has sex with him, it's _hot_ , and  _that_ is a little startling to Foggy--the kind of sex he likes is dependent on the person, of course, Marci fucking him isn't at all like him and Jenny from undergrad having sex, or him and Marc from contract law, but he's never not made his partner come too, and he doesn't feel any need to switch to him being in charge for once.

Even with Marci Foggy had ended up only going to her when he felt like following her directions, because she was even worse than Matt at letting anyone be in charge of anything, and that had put the nail in the coffin at them ever being an actual couple. She had started to relax before she got hired for Landman & Zack, smirking when Foggy told her what he wanted to do and telling him he'd guessed right and  _well then, get the fuck on with it_ , but things had worsened when she'd decided to climb that particular ladder.

It's weird to think about. Foggy's always thought of himself as the kind of guy who's down for anything, who loves giving oral and generally likes even mildly kinky sex to be full of laughter and dorky moments and relishing the awkwardness that made it  _real_ and low-key, instead of some porn rehearsal or an existential referendum on who he was as a person. He's never been able to say 'master' or anything without bursting into laughter, and usually the idea of not taking turns makes him uncomfortable in a way that he can't define. It usually feels like pity sex or else like his partner is imagining someone else with Foggy's face, and that's  _weird._

But Matt is different.

(Story of Foggy's life.)

* * *

 

It's during one of those times when Matt's finished sucking Foggy off in the shower at his place (and jesus, where had that dent in the wall come from?) that Foggy finally says, "Matt?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I suck your dick when we're out of the shower?"

There's a minute of pause, and then Matt says, sounding a little baffled, "Why would you  _want_ to?"

"Why do  _you_ like it?" Foggy said instead of anything else he could say, staying as calm as he could. He knew this would be another conversation with Matt that would fuck him up later, but he wanted it to at least go well.

There's a second, and then Matt says, "Because you're  _you_ , you're beautiful and amazing and perfect, and you deserve--better than me, anyway. Everything that you want."

"That's--" and it takes Foggy a minute to find the words. "Really sweet. But I don't 'deserve' anyone better than you. I get to decide who I want and who's good enough for me and  _you are_. You are _also_ beautiful and amazing and holy fucking shit are you sexy, it's unfair."

(Thank god he rehearsed this in his head about a hundred times. Otherwise he'd stumble and say the wrong thing and fuck it all up.)

"And I want to suck your dick because I  _like it_ , Matt, not because I think I'm less than you or anything," Foggy continues on, despite Matt's hitched breath. "Seriously, seeing someone totally lose it and just be happy for, like, ten minutes while I make their whole week? It's like doing shots, Matt, except they don't make me make poor life decisions or give me hangovers."

Matt laughs at that, gently, and sighs. "Okay, I see your point."

"You don't have to let me, but I want to," Foggy says, careful. He feels like he's walking barefoot on a hot road and has to stay on the white lines of the crosswalk. He doesn't ever want Matt to lose his shit and storm out and disappear again.

Matt looks like he's chewing it over, and then nods. "You'll stop when you want to."

"When I want to, I'll stop," Foggy repeats firmly, and then sits on the floor and goes to fucking town. Matt's got a  _nice_ cock, not long so much as thick, and it feels good in his mouth. The way Matt's eyes flutter and his thighs tremble--and jesus, his thighs, his whole body, it looks like one of those statues of Jesus, beautiful and scarred and wounded--it's intoxicating, and he comes in a minute and Foggy feels a low satisfaction in the deep down of him. He feels vindicated--it's not him, he's not the reason Matt didn't want this before, he's fine, and Matt looks like he's had a religious experience.

Foggy can't _wait_ to do this more often.


	3. Chapter 3

Matt listens carefully.

He's set things up just as Foggy asked him to: orange juice in the fridge, a box of strawberries next to it, and the number for pizza in his phone. The silk rope was soft and smooth and Matt had tested it, tying up his own leg, listening to the directions; the shears for slicing through it at a moment's notice were out on the table. 

Foggy wanted  _him_ to be in charge. It still baffled Matt a little, why Foggy liked him, why he trusted him, why he  _wanted_ him, but by this point it was undeniable. 

The conversations were painful and slow and half the time they didn't seem to do very much, but Foggy was happier having them, so when he came in and wanted to talk before doing what Foggy had said he wanted to do

(and Matt couldn't lie, not to Foggy, not anymore, what  _he_ wanted to do too, a little electric thrill in him at the idea of him being in charge for once)

Matt grimaced but didn't protest.

"Hey," Foggy said, and put down his bag before coming over and kissing Matt. 

Matt relaxed into it and kissed back, taking a moment to taste Foggy's mouth: he'd drunk more coffee before coming over, he'd brushed his teeth after that, and his heartbeat and body sounded nervous. 

"You sure you're okay with this?" Foggy asked again, even though he was the one asking to be tied up and-- _toyed with_ , were the words. "I'm not gonna be offended if you're not in the mood."

Matt smiled at him. "Yes," he said, trying not to laugh. Foggy kept thinking Matt was--that  _Matt's_ comfort was the most important part. It was sweet, but entirely bizarre. "I'm fine."

"Good. Then I'm gonna get naked and ready," Foggy said, and turned to go strip and use the bathroom. He came back out smelling like  _Matt's_ handsoap, and arousal, and sat down naked on Matt's sofa, awkwardly. "So how are are gonna--?"

"Like this," Matt said, and started tying. 

The knots were carefully done so they didn't dig into Foggy's skin, and the position he ended up in on the couch wasn't complicated--his hands were behind his back and his ankles were tied up on the backs of his thighs, and the ropes criss-crossed across him. Matt traced them carefully, checking the skin nearby for being too hot or too cold.

"Mmm, Matt," Foggy said, and wriggled a little. "Ughn. You good?"

"I'm fine," Matt said quietly. He  _was_ fine, this wasn't bad, just--strange. He'd been tied up before, to the ceiling, bent over the bed, under his clothes so Elektra could come up behind and tug at the ropes to tease him. 

Being the one who was free to move while Foggy--who was  _Foggy_ , who Matt had never suspected of being  _into_ things like this at all--was tied up and helpless was very, very strange. But  _good_ ; Matt realized he was hard, and moved to kiss Foggy.

"Mmmrph," Foggy said, and Matt pulled off immediately. "No, it's fine, just gotta breathe," Foggy said, and moved a little, and Matt realized that  _he_ was hard too, and the smell made his mouth water.

Matt kissed his face, and his neck, and reached one hand down to rub Foggy's soft stomach and chest, playing with a nipple. "What do you want me to do?" Matt asked, biting gently at his neck. Foggy asked Matt all the time what he wanted, and it was sometimes painful to answer

( _This, not that, nothing, to go back to sleep, for you not to leave me_ )

But he was getting better at it. But this time it was Foggy's turn.

"Fuck," Foggy said, twitching as Matt pinched the nipple. "Fuck, Matt--touch me."

Matt grinned and let his hand go behind Foggy to rub at his lower back. "Here?"

"You  _dickhead_ ," Foggy said, sounding fond and annoyed at the same time. "Touch me--make me come, Matt, please, make me--"

That was plenty. Matt realized, suddenly, that he could just  _not_ , he could ignore what Foggy wanted and asked for, he could do what he felt like and Foggy couldn't stop him, because he was tied up. He could be like Elektra and fuck Foggy's mouth and ignore him until he quieted down again.

But at the same time, Matt  _couldn't_. You couldn't do things like that, you just _didn't_. It was  _Foggy_ , and besides, who  _did_  that kind of shit?

So he let his hand come back around, trail down Foggy until he wrapped it around Foggy's dick, teasing the head a little but firmly jerking it off, pausing to lick at it and taste Foggy to add more lube, other hand rubbing Foggy's thighs and nipples, pinching and flicking and massaging, and Matt kissed him and kissed him and listened to him say  _yes_ and  _fuck_ and  _Matt, Matt, jesus fuck_ , and bit him a little and said  _language_ and listened to Foggy curse louder and used his other hand to touch Foggy's balls and  _that_ pushed him over the edge, making Matt smile at the smell.

He lay Foggy back and licked him clean, grinning, and kissed him until he needed to breathe again, and then Matt untied Foggy, covered him up with a soft blanket Foggy had bought for Matt years ago (because his own weren't warm enough, apparently), and got him strawberries and orange juice until his heartbeat sounded normal, and then they ordered pizza and watched some ridiculous movie about spies that Foggy liked.

"I love you," Matt said once the pizza came and he paid for it, sitting down with his slices.

"I know," Foggy said, and leaned against him. "I can feel it every time you touch my dick. You give extremely heartfelt handjobs, I hope you know."

Matt laughed and kissed his hair. "I wasn't going to hurt you," he said without thinking. "I won't. Ever."

Foggy didn't say anything for a minute. Then he said again, "I know. That's why I let you do that. You think I let Marci tie me up and have her wicked way with me? _Hell no_."

Matt hummed and said nothing else for the rest of the movie--until James Bond assassinated someone and, of course, didn't get charged. Then he rolled his eyes and commented, and Foggy retorted that the whole  _point_ was James Bond's unbeatable badassery, and the room filled up with banter and the smells of pizza and Foggy's come and silk ropes.


End file.
